


the only one my body loves

by littlelocaldreamer



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-10 03:56:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21467767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelocaldreamer/pseuds/littlelocaldreamer
Summary: Everyone has something to say about Patrick’s size.Everyone but Jonny.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 18
Kudos: 235





	the only one my body loves

**Author's Note:**

> title by IDER, "body love"

Patrick Kane has been made to feel small his entire life.

When he hit puberty, everyone around him thought he would keep going. He was so good at hockey, so strong and fast and skilled. 

“Just wait until you’re bigger,” his father would say, twinkle in his eyes, “you’ll take them all down.”

“Only a matter of time,” his mother would agree, smiling softly and rubbing at his shoulder, “you’ll tower over all of us.”

So Patrick kept playing, kept building strength and gaining speed so he wouldn’t get slammed into the boards.

And on the rare occasions when he did, he would go home and sit in his room, stewing in anger and frustration and cursing his small stature. 

“One day,” he’d mutter, squeezing his muscles and looking into the mirror, “I’ll be bigger. One day I’ll get them all back.”

“It’s going to happen,” his physician would nod, looking at a clipboard, “only a couple more years now.”

So Patrick waited.

And waited. 

And when the famous Growth Spurt finally arrived, Patrick grew taller, his shoulders broader. His stomach constantly rumbled, needing to be filled. Angry sore pimples blotted his skin. His right hand started to get tired. 

Puberty came, and then it went. 

Patrick stopped just short of 5’11. 

“It doesn’t make sense,” his father scowled at the doctor, “you said he would be bigger than this—“

“I just don’t understand,” his mother added, eyes watery, “how can he be safe at this size?”

“Scouts won’t want him,” his coach chimed in, “not under 6 feet.”

They all looked at him then, everyone in the room. He sunk down in his chair, tired and miserable and feeling 3 feet tall.

The doctor sighed. “I’m sorry. But that’s genetics. There’s nothing we can do.”

“Well, what now then?” His father demanded. 

“He has to be the best he can possibly be. There’s no room for error,” his coach supplied, pity in his voice. 

Patrick stared ahead, eyes unfocused as they all talked about him as if he wasn’t even there.

<|>

Jonathan Toews towers over him. In the beginning, this bothered Patrick. 

Since they started at the same time and were the same age, announcers and media were always looping them together. But for all they had to say about Jonny and his work ethic and his background and his skill set— all they could bring up about Patrick was his size. 

“Toews is a big boy, not too bulky—so he still has speed. He’s got height, too. He carries. Now, with Patrick Kane—unsure what the Hawks were thinking with him. First round pick? What’s he stand at? About 5’9— maybe 5’10?”

They’d call him a liability. A waste of money. Not worth the Hawk’s time. 

Teammates would weigh in too. Patrick Sharp donning him “lil peekaboo” against his wishes and Duncan Keith and Brent Seabrook both having something to say about it. 

“That’s hilarious,” Duncs laughed.

“You’re never getting away from it,” Seabs helpfully supplied.

Strangely though, Jonathan never had anything to say about Patrick’s size. 

Sometimes he’d tell the guys to lay off. Other times he’d gaze at Patrick, focused and unwavering—not saying a word. 

Patrick still couldn’t stand him. Didn’t want to be compared to him or to anyone else—he got to this point on his own and he’d push through regardless of what any hater had to say. 

He’d catch Jonathan staring at him sometimes, and the focused intensity of it would make Patrick shake inside. He didn’t understand the kid at all. 

When they had to room together it just got worse. 

Patrick used to push and kick at Jonathan after rough practices and lost games, wrestling with him until one of them would inevitably give in.

Patrick made sure it was rarely—if ever—himself. 

He had something to prove. 

Jonathan couldn’t use his height and his weight to his full advantage if they were horizontal on a bed.

On a few rare occasions the fights would leave Patrick breathless and confused. Jonathan would sometimes get hard. For over two years, they never talked about it.

Then, they end up winning the cup.

They’re in some trashy dive afterwards, just the kind that Patrick likes. It’s too hot. There’s old black and white photographs of musicians lining the walls, fairy lights strung up over the top shelf liquor. There’s nowhere to sit because it’s small—but Patrick doesn’t mind because Jonathan keeps pressing close to him—pressing into him. 

It’s past 3am but they’re both buzzed and high off Chicago’s rampant, insane energy. When Jonathan leans down and murmurs “come with me”— Patrick does. 

He allows Jonathan’s big hand to circle his wrist as they walk into a shitty single bathroom in the back away from everyone else.

He doesn’t protest when Jonathan pushes him gently up against the wall and kisses him deep and sloppy and filled with something a little less like lust and a little more like love.

Patrick knows the difference because he’s only ever been kissed in the heat of the moment. But that’s not this. Jonathan kisses him like he wants to do it forever.

Patrick’s head fills with hot air at the thought. 

When Jonathan flips him to face the sink and the mirror, his back to Jonathan’s chest, Patrick leans into it—strong, flexed muscles—recognizing that he doesn’t hate how it feels. 

“Lemme touch you,” Jonathan whispers right into his ear, teasing a lick at the lobe. 

Patrick arches his hips back, knocking his baseball cap off in the process. “Please.”

Patrick watches in the mirror as Jonathan brings him off right there, jerking him expertly through all the shakes and shivers until Patrick’s coming in short gasps all over the cracked white sink. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, dizzy and restless.

“Come home with me,” Jonathan urges, pressing his hard dick into Patrick’s ass, “Pat—please?”

Patrick doesn’t even contemplate saying no. 

“Yeah, okay.”

<|>

They fall into a pattern of casually hooking up for a couple of years. 

But that’s not where they are now.

Currently they’re sleeping, Jonathan tucked in all cozy along Patrick’s back in their shared bed. Patrick’s shocked he didn’t push himself away in the night—Jonathan always runs too hot. There have been countless nights where Patrick’s woke in a sticky press alongside him—nothing to do with sex and more to do with pure, direct body heat. 

It’s nice though, waking up snug with him. The hard cock pressed into his lower back is even nicer. 

Patrick squirms in his hold, wiggling in a move not even remotely subtle as he waits for Jonathan to get with the program. 

There’s a warm puff of air exhaled across the back of his neck, a sign Jonathan’s beginning to come to. Patrick takes one of the massive arms wrapped around him and pushes it down, skimming along the soft, sensitive skin of his belly. 

“Mm—baby?” Jonathan presses his lips to Patrick’s nape, nudging sweet little sips of kisses along his shoulder blades. 

Patrick bites his lip, cock twitching in his briefs below the heavy covers. It’s the middle of the season, so they’re decently far into an already brutal winter. 

Outside their floor to ceiling windows, the snow is relentless. Patrick cuddles even further against Jonathan, craving the feeling of being so wrapped up he can’t even tell his body from the one behind him. 

Even after all this time, it still shocks him.

Patrick Kane has been made to feel small by everyone around him his entire life. Jonathan Toews is the only one who’s never made him feel this way yet Patrick doesn’t mind feeling small with him. 

It’s funny how life works out. 

“Jonny,” Patrick whispers, turning his head to gently nudge his nose against Jonathan’s, “touch me, please.”

One of Jonathan’s big hands slides slowly down his navel while the other comes to cradle his head against his bicep, cushy and firm and perfect for Patrick to press his teeth into. 

“Whatever you want,” Jonathan replies, earnest and heartfelt even half asleep. 

Patrick lets out a small, hurt noise when Jonathan wraps his hand around his now fully erect cock, biting down on his plush bottom lip when Jonathan presses his growing hardness into the crease of his ass. 

“Love waking up to you,” Jonathan murmurs, hot breath ghosting over Patrick’s ear, “never gets old—“

Patrick surges even further into him, eyes falling shut at the comforting heat blanketing them in its embrace. 

He’s so hard but he’s still sleepy, too. 

Usually Patrick never wakes before the alarm but he’d been feeling desperate today—eager.

Jonathan doesn’t call him out on it. Jonathan never makes Patrick feel embarrassed or like he’s demanding too much. 

And in turn, Patrick does the same. 

They love one another so much, are so careful with their feelings in their home. Outside of it, they bicker in locker rooms and scream on the bench, drunkenly fight on the streets of Chicago after disappointing losses. But hostility and judgment never follow them into bed. 

Anger never appears here. 

“Tell me what you need,” Jonathan prompts, innocent pecks becoming wetter and more slick sounding the harder he presses his body into Patrick’s.

Patrick doesn’t hesitate, knows what he needs. 

Knows Jonathan will give it to him.

“Want you on top of me,” he responds, already high and breathy, “please, Jonny—“

Jonathan moves to action then, efficiently stripping both of them of their underwear and grabbing the lube from their nightstand. 

They’ll have to change the sheets afterwards, they tend to get a little messy sometimes. Patrick rolls onto his stomach, shaking and giddy with anticipation. 

When Jonathan comes back he covers Patrick’s body completely with his own—all naked burning heat and massive limbs. 

“Let me in baby, okay? Open up for me.”

He sounds half asleep still, dreamy and lucid like he never is in his Captain position. Patrick loves him even more like this—relaxed and smooth and so deeply calm. No one gets to see him like this. 

Only Patrick. 

And no one gets to see Patrick like this—underneath someone, feeling small. But this is the only time in his life he doesn’t hate it. He loves it. Because in this position he’s safe and secure and owned. 

And if Jonathan ever needs this he allows Patrick the same responsibility; the same privilege. Patrick will tower over Jonathan in their bed and take care of him too, whatever he needs. 

Whatever they need. 

When they were younger and uncertain and full of spite for one another, Patrick used to get himself into audacious situations. He had to be in control everywhere else—with his family, setting a good example for his sisters. With his teammates, mindful of contributing enough. Out on the ice, proving his worth every minute played.

So when he drank, he let loose. And when he let loose, he fucked up. Hard. 

He doesn’t remember a lot of his history with drinking. Which isn’t to say he’s not sorry about certain events that went down—but it certainly wasn’t surprising these incidents only seemed to occur away from Jonathan. 

When Jonathan picked him up three weeks after Madison, pale and exhausted looking, he called Patrick out and didn’t even flinch. 

“Does your reckless behavior have something to do with me? With...us?”

Patrick reached to slap him but Jonathan grabbed his wrist, gently, because he wanted to tear Patrick up inside. 

He gazed into his eyes, unwavering and possessed. “Because I’ve been stupid too—so fucking dumb over you, Kaner. If you even—“

And Patrick crawled across the seats and kissed him. Quietly told him, “It’s—it’s because of you.”

They’ve come a long way since then. 

“Jonny,” he whines at the first drops of lube slide down his crease, spread open by Jonathan’s long fingers gripping a cheek. His hands feel so big sometimes Patrick swears he can fit a cheek in each palm. 

Jonathan laughed when Patrick told him this the first time—than abruptly stopped laughing when Patrick pulled out a mirror and climbed in his lap so they could both see for themselves. 

Jonathan’s tan hands weren’t quite as big as Patrick thought, but they still looked so good on him, even better in him afterwards when Patrick rode them in front of the mirror. 

“Shh, you’ll warm up,” Jonathan admonishes him fondly, lining the lube all slow and measured up along the seal of secret skin. 

“Do it,” Patrick mutters, allowing his eyes to slip shut. They’re too heavy to hold open. 

“Yeah,” Jonathan agrees, low and deep, “lemme on you.”

He arranges himself so that his whole body practically envelopes Patrick’s—keeping his huge biceps flexed and taunt alongside Patrick’s head as his hips begin to move back and forth in sensual, tentative thrusts. 

Jonathan won’t penetrate him like this but it feels just as good, if only in a different way. Patrick’s hard cock is trapped between his belly and the mattress, aching and desperate for attention. But he breathes deep, forces himself to stay patient. 

Jonathan will take care of him. 

“You feel so good, always so—so warm here,” Jonathan tells him, not quite panting yet but sounding breathless all the same. 

“Yeah?” Patrick keens, rubbing his face into the sheets, inhaling their mixed scents. 

He pushes back, arching his hips to dig his cock further into their luxurious mattress below, loving how it feels like a plush, clouded tongue.

Jonathan presses his chest down on Patrick’s back, not enough to suffocate him but enough to clear his head—make him space out. The weight of him, his warmth—it tugs Patrick under. At his mercy. 

A slick tongue slides along his neck, up to the sensitive tip of his ear. Jonathan sucks on it, hips increasing in their movement, fucking against Patrick’s ass hungrily. 

“God, Peeks—you know I love you—“

Patrick can’t even say it back, trying not to fall too far under so quickly. But he’s starting to drool on his pillow, his cock leaking so much the sheets are wet. And he doesn’t know how it’s so good all the time—every time. 

Jonathan nudges at his mouth with his own, breathing heavy and choppy. Patrick opens up for him, allowing their lips to connect in a slow, lush push and pull.

Jonathan slows his thrusts against him to an almost leisurely pace—never truly wanting to rush when they have nowhere to be. 

Patrick arches, using his knees for leverage, needing to feel as close to Jonathan as possible.

Jonathan’s grip tightens even more, nearing the point of painful pleasure. “Fuck yourself on me, sweetheart—that’s it—“

Patrick actually whimpers, rendered so weak by bliss. He used to be so self conscious of the noises he made when they first started this, painfully cognizant of all his senses. 

But just like all his other walls, Jonny broke those down too. 

“Never want you quiet, wana get you so loud,” he drunkenly confessed one night out, plastering Patrick against the wall of a darkened bar, thumbing at the button of his jeans. 

Patrick’s heart leapt to his throat.

“Take me home and I’ll show you how loud I can get,” Patrick instructed him, tired of denying desires he wanted for himself. 

It’s not a problem anymore. 

He whimpers again as Jonathan grabs him by his hips, shoving him up onto his knees and spreading his thighs even further apart. 

“God—Pat. Love your body, could fuck you forever,” he rasps out, rubbing his slick cock down and against the ultra sensitive smooth skin of Patrick’s balls, pressing the tip there and smearing precome all along it. 

“Jonny,” Patrick positively whines, “please—“ his voice cracks, throat too dry. 

Jonathan looms behind him, once again covering his body with his own, making Patrick feel tiny. He wishes, brief and hysterical, that they could always do this—only this—

He shivers when Jonathan takes his cock in hand, using his other one to push his fingers down and against Patrick’s navel so hard he feels the bite of nails against his flesh. 

Patrick moans, using his arms and the last of his strength to push himself and Jonny up, movements aligning their sweat slick bodies even more. 

He reaches back, hands grappling against Jonathan’s massive, glorious ass and digging his digits in when he gets a good grip. 

Jonny groans into Patrick’s neck, alternating between sliding his tongue over the last knob of Patrick’s vertebra and biting all along his neck, possessive and crazed. 

Jonathan loves to put marks on his body. 

“You’re mine,” he whispered the first night Patrick finally allowed him to do it, the two of them heaving and exhausted and looking forward to a much needed break. 

Patrick immediately wanted to freak out, flight instincts tempting him to push Jonathan away and out of his bed.

But he didn’t. 

Instead he sighed, content and peaceful for the first time in years, and whispered back, “Yeah. You too, Jonny.”

It would take nearly half a year after for them to say the big word, the L word—but when they did it was no less monumental, no more guessing and overthinking. 

Jonny wraps an arm around Patrick’s trim waist, bicep bulging as he works over his blood swollen cock. His other arm comes to rest over his pec, pinching a nipple quickly before lightly grazing the base of Patrick’s throat.

He waits a second and Patrick just listens to the sound of their combined breathing. He pushes his shoulders into Jonny’s chest. Jonathan’s fingers twitch. 

“Do it,” Patrick breathes. 

There’s a deep inhale. Then Jonathan clamps down, finger by finger. 

He squeezes, just a bit. Only for a few seconds. But it gets Patrick so hot. 

His toes curl and he bites his lip hard. His cock gets leakier. He feels filthy. 

“Yeah baby,” Patrick breathes so softly, “jus—just like that.”

Jonathan makes a deep, distressed noise, clutching onto Patrick’s body desperately as his grinding speeds up. He switches between sucking on Patrick’s neck and biting at his hairline and before Patrick can instruct which one he wants more Jonathan is coming, warm and shaking, all along his lower back. 

“Jonny,” Patrick pants, achingly tender.

His cock throbs between his legs. 

Jonny whimpers and whines and leaves finger shaped bruises all along Patrick’s hips and neck and chest, splaying his hands briefly along his sides before taking Patrick’s cock back in hand. 

He hooks his chin over Patrick’s shoulder, licking at his skin as he starts jacking him off for real- no teasing, no flirtations. Just raw, controlled motions back and forth.

Patrick’s thighs tremble and he collapses into Jonathan’s massive body, fucking as fast as he can into the circle of his fist.

“Yeah, lemme take care of you—give it up for me baby—“ 

Patrick turns his head, eyes closed as he blindly seeks out Jonathan’s mouth. Their lips connect in an eager, frantic kiss, Jonathan urging him to let go and just come and—

“Love your body—you’re so hot—“

And then—

“—all mine—“ he whispers low in French, kissing his cheekbone. 

Patrick loses it all over Jonathan’s fist. The release feels like the biggest relief—he squirms in his hold, bringing a hand to the back of Jonathan’s neck and squeezing possessively as his cock is milked.

Jonathan works him through it, patient and gentle and soft-spoken. 

His eyes feel glazed over as he glances out the windows. The snow’s coming down even harder now. 

He starts to fall over, suddenly so sleepy and exhausted he can barely move. Jonathan catches him though, smearing come all along his chest, and Patrick can’t help but laugh—joyful and giddy. 

Jonathan hugs him from behind, body solid and hot and strong all along the ridges of Patrick’s own. “And what’s so funny?” He whispers right into Patrick’s ear, warm breath tickling the tip.

“Mmm.”

Patrick leans even more into his weight, tilting his head down and over his shoulder in a coy glance. “You got come all over me.”

Jonathan makes a pleased noise, manhandling Patrick down on the bed on his back. 

When he hovers over him, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, Patrick closes his eyes and smiles.

It took him years to love his own body but his body has always loved Jonny. 

How about that—

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading. this is an ode to patrick kane's beauty and grace <33


End file.
